


in the summer (pop and culture remix)

by Talls



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew is a good boyfriend, Banter, Fluff, Neil Josten is a Mess, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 03:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21172901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talls/pseuds/Talls
Summary: “Andrew,” Neil says through cracked lips. There’s no response. “Andrew, I know you can hear me,” he presses. “If this is it for me-”“Shut up,” Andrew says.“If this is it for me, I just want you to know it was all worth it: for you.”“Jesus Christ, Neil, it’s a fucking heat wave, not Chernobyl. The AC guy is coming tomorrow,” Andrew calls out from the kitchen.





	in the summer (pop and culture remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softlightwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlightwood/gifts).
  * Inspired by [in the summer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16763281) by [softlightwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlightwood/pseuds/softlightwood). 

> i had a great time reading the fic this is based on - in the summer by softlightwood go read it right now - and writing it as well!! i remixed kind of a lot, but i think it ended up working out!
> 
> special thanks to the mods @gluupor and @leahlisabeth, y'all are so kind and so wonderful and this remix was organized really really well!! thank you especially to gluupor for the beta, you're a gem!

Neil is dying. There’s no two ways about it. He always knew he would die young, but he didn’t expect it to be now, so soon after his life was granted back to him, so soon after he accepted he might have a future after all. All of that feels like dust between his fingers now, fading away into oblivion. Neil is dying. There’s nothing else he can do. 

“Andrew,” Neil says through cracked lips. There’s no response. “Andrew, I know you can hear me,” he presses. “If this is it for me-” 

“Shut up,” Andrew says. 

“If this is it for me, I just want you to know it was all worth it: for you.” 

“Jesus Christ, Neil, it’s a fucking heat wave, not Chernobyl. The AC guy is coming tomorrow,” Andrew calls out from the kitchen. Neil pops his head over the back of the living room couch to look at Andrew’s figure, partially obscured by the freezer door as he roots through it, possibly scavenging for any cold in the goddamn house. 

“We are at death’s door,” Neil says, truthfully and without any drama at all. “I’m serious, Andrew. I’d do it all again for you, even if it still ended like this.” 

“Shut up,” Andrew repeats. “It’s humid enough already without you blowing hot air everywhere.” He shuts the freezer door and walks towards Neil into the living room. As he crosses the threshold, he tosses a bag of frozen peas unceremoniously onto Neil’s face. 

“Oh fuck that feels so good,” Neil groans. 

“If only I made you moan like that,” Andrew deadpans. 

“You just did,” Neil says, pulling the peas from his face and tucking them under his shirt. Andrew collapses into an easy chair across from the couch. Neil is torn between appreciating the space between them, because the concept of touching another human’s flesh makes him genuinely want to rip off his own face, and wishing Andrew was closer. 

Neil always wants Andrew closer than he is. It’s becoming a problem. On cooler days, Neil thinks he’d like to crawl inside Andrew’s bones and make a home there, protected, safe, and incapable of being separated from him again, incapable of being alone. 

Other days, Neil tries to be less creepy. 

“You baffle me,” Andrew says. Neil makes a questioning noise. “Why would a man burning into a blazing inferno still be wearing jeans?” 

“I don’t have that many other clothes,” Neil complains. 

“How is that anyone else’s fault but yours? More importantly, why are you dedicated to making it my problem?” Andrew asks, clearly fed up. Neil doesn't respond. There’s technically not an answer. Andrew stares for a few more moments before grabbing his keys and leaving the house, shutting the door behind him as he goes. 

Neil feels significantly more deflated than before, and it’s not like he started the encounter feeling great. It’s easy to lose track of how annoying he’s being with Andrew, because Andrew will be as unphased as a person can be, right up until the moment he loses interest and moves on. 

There’s nothing quite as humbling as losing Andrew’s interest. Neil has made keeping it one of his life goals. 

What’s worse is the fact that, as usual, Andrew is right. It is technically Neil’s fault that he’s burning into oblivion at the moment. Nicky made upwards of three billion offers to take him shopping for more seasonal-appropriate wear, and Neil found an excuse not to go each time. The excuses weren’t even good. One time, Nicky caught him after a run, and Neil said he had to go running, and then he turned right back around and ran his route again. Neil winces, suddenly recalling that Andrew had to help him ice his legs that night. 

A horn blares from outside. There’s a pause, and then the horn sounds again, and then again, and again after that. Neil peels himself off of the couch to open the front door. 

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” Andrew barks in an oddly nasal tone from the lowered passenger side window of the Maserati. Neil feels his face break into something too giddy for the outside world, so he closes the door and toes on some shoes. 

“Was I supposed to get that reference?” Neil asks, sliding into the passenger seat. Andrew has the AC on full blast, and the car is blissfully cool. Neil realizes that Andrew must have sat in the hot car waiting for it to cool down before honking to invite Neil outside. Neil’s chest feels so full it almost hurts.

“My comedic genius is wasted on you,” is all Andrew offers as he peels out of the neighborhood. He tosses his phone to Neil, who hooks it up to the aux. 

“Let me guess,” Neil says, as he flips through Andrew’s Spotify, perusing his latest playlists, “some classic TV show like The Office that I’m culturally illiterate for not knowing.” 

“You’re culturally illiterate for more reasons than your ignorance of The Office, and it’s a movie. Mean Girls.” 

“Mean Girls?” Neil asks skeptically. 

“It’s a cinematic treasure, so psychologically sound that I successfully use it to predict and manipulate Kevin’s behavior,” Andrew says, speech oddly practiced. 

“You should show it to me,” Neil says. Andrew eyes him for a second, as if waiting for further ridicule, before switching lanes to get on the highway. 

“You can watch it yourself,” Andrew responds, flipping off someone who dared try and merge while he was cutting across four lanes. 

“Yeah, but then I’d miss your running commentary, and that’s the only reason I watch movies at all,” Neil says, almost too honest. Andrew is silent again. 

“Pick a fucking song,” he eventually mutters. Neil stops staring at Andrew to check back on his playlists. There’s one called _heatwave, _ and he puts it on shuffle for the occasion. Neil watches as Andrew’s eyebrows lift just the slightest amount in approval at the song Neil chooses, _Summertime Magic. _

“Wait, I never asked, where are we going?” Neil finally thinks to ask. Andrew quirks his brow. 

“I told you, we’re going shopping, dumbass,” Andrew says, not unkindly. “You don’t have any summer clothes that can withstand more than one wash. You need to get out of those jeans, or you’re going to broil in your own skin, and Aaron will get pissy at me for stinking up the house with your corpse.” 

“I was on board with you getting me out of my jeans, but you lost me with the rest of it,” Neil says, because his mind got stuck there and didn’t process the rest of the sentence. Andrew mutters something homicidal under his breath, but the tips of his ears get just a little bit more pink, and Neil can see his jaw tense as he bites down on a smirk. “I’ll be fine, Andrew; seriously, I’ll stop complaining about this.” 

“The problem is not that you are complaining.” Andrew says, merging onto the off-ramp off the highway. “The problem is that you are ill-prepared for the season. The complaining is symptomatic, and will be resolved when we get you into a pair of shorts that won’t get you charged for public indecency.”

“What’s so indecent about my shorts?” Neil asks, slightly offended on his shorts’ behalf. 

“They’re almost see-through at this point, Magic Mike.” 

“Are you saying you want me to protect my virtue through more conservative dress?” Neil asks, baiting the bear. Andrew rolls his eyes, pulling into the parking lot of the outlet mall. 

“I’m saying we’re going to Old Navy for a few shorts and tees that don’t make me want to kill you with force when I see you in them, maybe something nice from H&M for the next time we go to Eden’s, and something horrible from Forever 21 if you piss me off too much. All goes well, we’re in there for about an hour, maybe an hour and twenty minutes if I get snacky and need a cinnamon pretzel. If you make this difficult for me, I will make everything difficult for you for the rest of your life,” Andrew says, as he pulls into a parking spot near the JC Penney. “Are we clear?” 

“We’re clear,” Neil says, smiling way too widely for someone who was just chastised as if he was a toddler, or maybe a very anxious dog. “Yes or no?” 

Andrew narrows his eyes. “Yes.” Neil leans over and kisses him on the cheek over the gear-shift. Andrew goes abruptly and entirely red. 

“Shopping is my least favorite activity in the world, and I’m considering my separate experiences of getting shot and getting stabbed when I say this. If I have to do this, I’m glad it’s with you.” 

Andrew stares, wide-eyed and flushed at Neil’s earnest face for far too long. Neil is starting to worry that he broke him when he finally looks away, scrubbing the heels of his hands against his temples. “Always with the drama and the monologues, Jesus fucking Christ.” He hops out of the car. 

“You like my drama, you think it’s entertaining,” Neil says, following Andrew out of the car and into the mall. 

As Andrew promises, it’s a relatively stress-free affair. Andrew walks around the Old Navy store, examining items critically before either tossing them at Neil’s face or dropping them on the floor. Neil makes a game of trying to catch the garments on his body without using his hands or arms, and Andrew awards himself twenty points when he gets a pair of shorts onto Neil’s head. 

They’re asked to leave after about twenty minutes, and Andrew is forced to check them out without Neil trying on any of the clothes. He expects they’ll be fine though. Andrew definitely knows his measurements at this point. 

Andrew stops in the food court for Cinnabon instead of Auntie Anne’s, and they sit together at one of the shoddy linoleum tables. It’s almost chilly inside, the AC cranked up as high as it can go while disaffected adults with cranky or hyper toddlers and roaming packs of teenagers escape the crushing heat of the outdoors. Andrew takes his time with his diabetic hurricane, occasionally doing a slight shoulder bop of pleasure every time he gets a particularly icing-laden mouthful. Neil opts for a Coke for dessert, and sips it lightly every time Andrew glares at him for staring too obviously.

Oddly enough, it’s kind of perfect. Andrew isn’t ever really calm in public, always just a little on edge thanks to all the unknown variables that strangers present, but his anxiety decreases with every family member he doesn’t have to worry about, and Neil doesn’t feel like making trouble. As Andrew polishes off the last of his cinnamon roll, Neil idly thinks that if this is what dates are like, he understands why Dan and Matt make such a fuss about getting to go on them together. 

“Alright,” Andrew says, standing up with new determination, “grab your Coke, you’re finishing up at H&M and then I’m gonna make a stop at Urban because I’m worth it.”

“It’s literally feels like you’re not speaking English,” Neil offers. 

“I love her, she’s like a Martian,” Andrew says under his breath, in the nasal voice of before. Neil considers asking questions before deciding, for once in his life, to keep his mouth shut. 

They stop at the H&M, once again with Andrew in the lead, grabbing clothes off the sales racks at random. Neil realizes part-way through that a solid third of the clothes are for women, but Andrew doesn’t seem to mind, so he guesses he won’t either. 

Andrew guides him to a changing room, and a deeply bored attendant shows him to an open one. Neil waits for Andrew to follow him in, but he stays outside, checking something on his phone. 

Inside the changing room, the world feels much smaller. The high walls and mirrors make the space seem smaller than it is, and the muffled music from the store makes him feel oddly secluded. He strips his shirt off, thumbing through some of the items. 

Some of them, he immediately decides not to buy, the fabric too itchy, or the cut too restrictive. There’s a mustard yellow t-shirt that’s made of ultra-soft fabric that he thinks he’d like to keep, and a pair of black shorts that have four hidden pockets in addition to the four visible ones. He looks at himself in the mirror and thinks he looks more human than not, like a real person with a real sense of identity. 

“So,” Andrew says from outside the door, his voice barely raised to be audible, “why didn't you just go with Nicky all those times he asked?” 

Neil should have known he wouldn’t just drop it. “I hate shopping, I told you.” 

“Right, but also, why do you hate shopping?” Andrew retorts. Neil sighs, peeling off an oddly tight shirt and placing it on the discard pile. The next shirt is oddly light-weight, an eye-catching blue. 

“I don’t know. It’s not like we shopped growing up. I had the clothes we thrifted, enough to fit into the duffle, and that was it. I just had to have enough clothes to get through a week, and since it was better to keep cold weather clothes and boil during the summer instead of keeping hot weather clothes and freezing to death, summer shopping was never a consideration. Then, it got too late to learn, so I just made do.” 

“Right, but Nicky wasn’t offering to drive you, he was offering to help you,” Andrew says. Neil pulls the blue shirt over his head, noting appreciatively how light it is. “Does he make you uncomfortable still?” 

“No,” Neil says quickly, because even if Nicky did make him uncomfortable, he doesn’t want Andrew to kill him anytime soon. Also, Nicky had been high and messy and deeply lonely, and he had been so genuinely repentant that time Neil brought it up, Neil just decided to dismiss the whole thing. It’s not like it will ever happen again. “Or well, he doesn’t more than anyone else.” 

“Explain,” Andrew says. Neil turns around in the mirror, examining his reflection. Something about the cut of this shirt is strange, even though it hangs well on his shoulders. 

“I know everyone knows I’ve been through some stuff, and they know I don’t feel comfortable changing, but there’s a difference between them knowing that and seeing the actual scars in real life. My whole body is a crime scene, and even though I know their reactions would only be kind, it’s still uncomfortable to have attention like that, even when they’re complimenting me. Especially when they’re complimenting me,” Neil says. There’s a knock on the door. 

“Can I come in?” Andrew asks. 

“Of course,” Neil says, and he means it. “Honestly, if anyone else tried to drag me out here, I’d find a way out of it. The only one I really genuinely feel comfortable in my body around is-” Andrew steps past the curtain into the changing room- “you.” 

They’re both facing the mirror, Andrew’s shoulder hidden behind Neil’s body in the reflection. Neil meets Andrew’s eyes and swallows. “Think that’s one of the women’s shirts,” Andrew finally says. 

“It’s super comfy and lightweight,” Neil says, looking down at the shirt on his body, “but there’s something off about it.” 

Andrew narrows his eyes and looks at it, before realization dawns in his eyes. “Lift your arms,” he commands, and Neil immediately does. The hem of the shirt rises a solid five inches, showing off most of Neil’s midriff, the abs that have developed under Kevin’s sadistic training plans, and the scars on top. “It’s a crop top,” Andrew says, and if Neil didn’t know better, he would think Andrew was actively dying with how tortured the words come out. 

“A crop top?” Neil asks. 

“I don’t know how this happened,” Andrew says, his eyes suddenly incapable of meeting Neil’s, all his attention focused elsewhere. Neil follows his line of sight through the mirror, and. Wait a second. 

Neil lowers his arms and then raises them again, just to check his hypothesis, and yes, there it is, the flash in Andrew’s eyes as they drop to his midriff, greedily drinking in the sight, maybe even committing it to memory before his eyes flick upwards to meet Neil’s in the mirror. 

“Oh shit,” Neil whispers, voice awed, keeping his arms up, “you like this.”

“No I don’t,” Andrew says reflexively, but his eyes dart down again, and one more time after that. 

“You do,” Neil says, and this time Andrew doesn’t respond. Neil thinks that he could press the point and get Andrew to admit it, but he doesn’t really want to do that. 

Instead, Neil reaches backwards to where Andrew’s hand rests at his side. Andrew takes Neil’s hand, letting him pull him forwards until Andrew’s chest is almost pressed against his back, moving their joined hands to his bare skin, right above his waistband. Andrew tenses at his back, his hand flexing and tensing against Neil’s skin, suddenly covered in goosebumps. 

They stand like that, making increasingly heated eye contact in the mirror, Andrew’s hand slowly tracing the ridges of scars and blemishes strewn across Neil’s torso like a battlefield. Neil’s breath catches and hitches in his chest, and his cheeks, too dark to blush red, are a little pinker than usual. 

Andrew’s just so hot, and not only in the attractive way. He generates warmth, radiates it like a space heater, and Neil runs cold. Andrew noses forwards, breaking eye contact to press a kiss against the side of Neil’s throat, letting his lips linger there. Neil shudders and melts backwards into his chest, allowing Andrew to hold them upright. He tilts his head to the side and Andrew brings his other hand up to slide under Neil’s soon to be purchased crop-top, rucking up the soft blue fabric. Neil rocks back into the sensation, and smiles at the way Andrew’s hands grip his waist, the way he shifts his weight to keep them both steady. 

The lights wash them out, placing hollows under Andrew’s eyes, and bringing out greyish undertones in Neil’s skin, but intertwined, Neil thinks they look like art. Seeing the reverent way Andrew looks at him, the care he places in memorizing his skin, Neil thinks he might be beautiful, wanted. Maybe even adored. 

Neil turns, suddenly too aware of himself, of his scars, of his strangely warped reflection. It is, after all, a strange realization to come to in the H&M changing room. Andrew drapes Neil’s arms over his shoulders, before linking his hands behind Neil’s back. He’s flushed and smirking, and there’s equal parts fondness and mirth in his eyes, even though he remains mostly stoic, and Neil thinks he might be the luckiest person to walk the earth. 

“Everything okay in there?” the disaffected changing room attendant asks through the curtain. Neil freezes and looks up guiltily, as if she was watching him from above. 

“All fine,” he croaks, and elbows Andrew after he laughs at his thoroughly wrecked voice. 

“Cool,” she offers before walking away. Neil holds his breath until he can’t hear her over the hip music playing on the store speakers. 

“You’re so fucking awkward,” Andrew whispers, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips and walking out. “We’re buying the top.” 

They make their way to the check-out line, Neil still awkward and blushy, Andrew as cool and calm as he always is. Andrew doesn’t stop at ‘Urban’, whatever that meant, suddenly very intent in getting both of them home as soon as possible. They spend fifteen minutes in the backseat fooling around before speeding back onto the highway, blasting OutKast through the speakers. 

It is, Neil thinks, a truly perfect summer day. 

By the time they make it back home, Nicky is unpacking from his grocery run, loading cartons of ice cream into the freezer. 

“Hey, you’re back! Andrew told me he was taking you shopping, and honestly, it is just like you to ignore everyone else in the world when they tell you to shop, and then go on an all day mall date as soon as Andrew has the time,” Nicky says, moving a Karamel Sutra pint into the far back of the freezer.

“He doesn’t look like a straight person anymore,” Andrew says. “He still looks homeless, though.” 

“That’s really all we can hope for in this economy,” Nicky says, feigning sadness, before handing Andrew what appears to be a slushie in a tall glass. “I made frozen margaritas, because we’re worth it,” Nicky says, and Andrew genuinely smiles a little bit as he takes a sip of his. Neil remembers Andrew using the phrase earlier, and thinks maybe there’s more resemblance between the cousins than he previously thought. 

“I bought a crop top,” Neil announces, because it feels like the kind of thing Nicky will be proud of. 

Nicky looks up, mouth dropping open, before turning to Andrew for confirmation. At Andrew’s nod, his face brightens into utter delight. “We’ll make a baddie out of you yet, Neil Josten,” Nicky proclaims. Neil turns to Andrew to see if he understood that reference, and, upon noticing the confusion in his eyes, thinks that maybe he’s adapting to all of this faster than he’s giving himself credit for.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you liked it, and don't forget to check out the original!


End file.
